


safety

by everythingsadream



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Ghost Hunting, Jon Has No Sense Of Self Preservation, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, its not a huge part of the story but its important to me personally, kinda friends to lovers?, not really - Freeform, pure dumbassery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingsadream/pseuds/everythingsadream
Summary: Martin's idiot roommate takes him ghost hunting. It goes even worse than he expected -- or even better, depending on your point of view.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	safety

The May evening outside London was glorious. The air was delightfully warm and smelled faintly of fresh-cut grass, the birds still sang in the blooming trees, and the last faint beams of orangey-gold sunlight touched the soft-looking clouds that drifted slowly across the steadily darkening sky. It was truly a perfect night.

And yet, as Martin stared into the woods before him, all he felt was unease and maybe a hint of annoyance.

Jon walked up behind him, turning around to give a wave to their Uber driver before grinning and opening his phone. "Right, so we just keep walking until we see the stream, and then we follow it left until we hit the house," he read off the screen, striding past Martin into the forest. With a sigh, Martin readjusted the straps of the backpack on his shoulders and followed.

"How'd Melanie and Georgie even find this place?" Martin asked as he jogged to keep up with his longer-legged friend. "Were they recording something for Melanie's channel, or..."

"No, actually, apparently it was totally by accident. Sucks that it had to happen that way. If Georgie was telling the truth about what the two of them saw, I'm sure Melanie's fans would've loved it." Georgie was a friend of Jon's, an old classmate from their first year at university. Melanie was her girlfriend, as well as the runner of a small ghost hunting channel on YouTube. Jon and Melanie had never particularly seen eye to eye, but Martin had witnessed Jon bingeing her videos more than once. Martin had to admit, the videos were interesting and pretty well-made, but he just didn't believe in this stuff like Jon did. Like, yeah, okay, there was evidence out there that ghosts were real and aliens had been to earth, but a solid 90% of the stories out there just had to be fake. At least, that was what Martin told himself.

Still, when Georgie had called Jon at 2am last night freaking out about the shadowy figures and ominous whispering coming from this weird house in the woods and Jon had  _ insisted _ on going, Martin let himself be dragged along. It was a lovely Friday evening, after all, and it wasn't like he had any better plans. Besides, if there really was some crazy ghost lurking in this place, he didn't want Jon to do something stupid when he found it and get himself hurt. Jon was smart, but he also didn't have a ton of regard for his own well-being. In his mind, any danger was worth it if it was in the name of science. Were ghosts science? Martin didn't quite know.

As the sunset overhead melted away into proper night, it became nearly impossible to see. Martin paused for only a moment to get a torch from his bag, but when he turned it on and looked up, Jon was quite a ways in front of him. Once again, he found himself running to keep up.

"Oi, slow down a little! And take this, you'll fall into that stream we're looking for if you're not careful," Martin said as he passed the torch off to Jon.

Jon turned to smile at him, his normally handsome face cast in eerie shadow and his dark eyes glittering in the torchlight. For just a moment, Martin thought he looked almost like a ghost himself. "Wow, someone's bossy tonight. You sound like my nan," Jon teased, and the illusion was broken. His voice softened a little as he kept talking, though. "But I'll go a little slower. I'm sorry."

They were mostly quiet after that. Above them, the stars were starting to come out, glimmering faintly between the branches. With Jon beside him and the dark forest calm around them, Martin actually began to enjoy the walk. 

That is, until they reached the house.

Martin realized as they drew close to it that what they’d been walking on up until now had been an actual path. An overgrown and narrow path, sure, but still a path. Now it grew wider and more defined, an earthy scar through the house’s now-wild garden that led straight to the decaying front door. Ivy climbed the crumbling walls, and the bits of shattered, dirty glass remaining in the windows caught the light of their torches. All the unease that Martin had felt earlier came rushing back, and his footsteps slowed as they approached. It certainly  _ looked _ haunted. If there was ever going to be any building that had a ghost, it was this one. And even if there was nothing supernatural about the place, it looked like it was about ready to collapse on top of them. Even in the darkness, Martin could pick out the large holes in the roof. Was it really such a good idea for them to go in there?

Jon clearly had no such reserves. He was already at the front door, torch between his teeth as he paused to scrape his hair back into a ponytail. He pushed the door open just as Martin came up behind him. The creak it made was like something from the most cliched horror movie, but it swung forward easily. 

Jon let out a slightly sinister laugh and glanced at Martin. “After you,” he said softly.

“Um, no. After you,” Martin answered, punctuating his words with a gentle shove. Jon stumbled a little, but quickly regained his balance and led the way into the house.

The inside was pretty much exactly how Martin had pictured it. The wood floors were creaky and dirty, speckled with bits of dead leaves and littered with rubbish that people had left behind. There was no furniture, save for a heavy-looking desk against one wall. A few strips of moldy wallpaper peeled from the graffitied walls, fluttering gently every time the broken windows allowed a breeze in from outside. Martin was deeply unsettled by how strongly the motion reminded him of breathing. 

A snort from Jon made him jump, and Martin turned to see him examining one of the newer-looking messages on the wall with his torch. Martin joined him, and he couldn’t help but smile when he read the scratched words. “GB + MK were here,” the carving said. Georgie Barker and Melanie King. Beside the words, one of them (probably Melanie) had etched a rough version of the logo for her YouTube channel. 

“Who knew the two of them were so cheesy?” Martin joked, but when he looked over at Jon, he saw his friend unfolding his pocket knife.

“Seriously?” Martin asked, but Jon was already carving. After a few moments, he pulled back. Now, below Melanie and Georgie’s words, a new message read “JS & MB came too,” with a little smiley face next to the writing. Martin rolled his eyes as Jon pulled out his phone to take a picture.

No sooner had Jon sent the photo off to Georgie than Martin heard the first footsteps from above. He stiffened, gaze darting up to the ceiling above them before he turned back to Jon, whose smile had faded somewhat. They stared at each other for a moment, the unspoken question passing as clearly between them as if they’d both asked it aloud:  _ what’s up there? _

“Could be a stray cat or something,” Jon murmured, probably in response to the panic Martin knew must be evident on his face. Part of him was touched by Jon’s attempt at reassurance. A much larger part of him wanted to laugh at such an obvious lie.

“Could be,” Martin whispered back. 

“Let’s look around down here for a little while longer,” Jon suggested, which brought Martin a stupid amount of relief. The whole point of this little mission was to hunt ghosts. Eventually, they’d have to go up to where the ghosts were. He knew Jon was just stalling to give him a chance to build his confidence -- or to chicken out entirely. Still, he appreciated the extra time Jon was giving him to make that decision.

They explored a few more rooms: a dilapidated kitchen where somebody had left a packet of chicken Ramen on the rusted stove as a joke, a tiny bathroom with a cracked sink whose tap came off in Jon’s hand when he attempted to turn it on, a tinier coat closet filled with spiders and their webs (this actually boosted Martin’s confidence quite a bit; Jon had been the one to stumble backwards in fear, while Martin had stood firm -- he had always liked spiders). All the while, the footsteps stopped and started above them. Once, Jon had actually called up the stairs to ask who was there. He’d gotten no response. Martin didn’t know if he should be comforted by that or not. 

All too soon, they’d explored the entire lower floor. The staircase loomed before them, in just as bad shape as the rest of the house. Once again, a fear that had nothing to do with the supernatural prickled in the back of Martin’s mind. He had a sudden image of himself falling straight through the stairs and being trapped in some Harry Potter cupboard situation. Giving his head a quick shake at his own ridiculous imagination, he dismissed the thought and started to climb.

They made it up safely. Martin half expected some violent specter to already be hurling itself screaming in their direction, but after a quick once-over with his torch, it seemed to Martin like this floor was just as empty as the one below. The footsteps had also stopped for the time being. Still, Martin instinctively drifted closer to Jon, even reaching out to grab onto his arm in a moment of boldness. Whatever those footsteps belonged to, Martin really didn’t want to be alone if and when he saw it.

The pair of them wandered into what must have been the master bedroom. It was just as empty as most of the rooms downstairs, containing only an old wooden bedframe and a mildewed mattress. A slightly musty smell filled the room, and suddenly Martin was very grateful for the large hole in the roof above them and the fresh air it provided. Pieces of the roof littered the floor above them, along with large shards of glass. Martin would have written it off as just another broken window, but the glass was on the other side of the room from where the windows were. Curiosity briefly overtook fear, and Martin broke away from Jon to examine the pieces.

It was a shattered mirror. The frame was nowhere to be seen, but when Martin picked up a piece of glass, his own round, scared face gazed out at him from it. 

As he went to put the shard of glass back down, it caught the reflection of something a ways behind him, still in the hall. The figure was tall and gaunt and Martin thought at first that it was Jon, but it only took a second to realize that it definitely wasn’t. It was swathed in shadow, and it moved toward him jerkily, much faster than it had any right to.

Martin let out a yell and dropped the glass, barely keeping a hold on his torch as he spun to face the figure. But there was nothing there, no one else in the room besides a very startled Jon rushing to his side.

“Martin! Are you okay?” He asked, shining his own torch out into the hall before looking back to Martin with worried eyes. Martin nodded, willing his breathing to return to normal and his heart to stop slamming so furiously against his ribcage. 

“Just...thought I saw something in the mirror,” Martin answered. “A weird shadow. Probably just a trick of the light.”

Something sparked in Jon’s gaze, and it was clear he was fighting between his concern for Martin and his own curiosity. “Yeah. Probably,” he mused. He went to examine the broken mirror for himself, holding different pieces up to his torch or peering so close to them that once or twice, Martin heard them click against his glasses.

“See anything?” Martin asked, trying to keep laughter from his voice. As freaked out as he was, it was still always kind of funny to see how intense Jon got during his little investigations. His face was scrunched up now, eyes narrowed as he practically glared at a particularly large piece. After a moment, though, he dropped it and shook his head.

“Just the light after all, I suppose.”

The words had scarcely left Jon’s lips when both of them heard the footsteps again. They came from the room beside they were in right now -- the only room on this floor with a closed door. Of course. 

“Martin, you don’t have to go in if you--”

Martin grabbed onto Jon’s arm again, shaking his head. “No way in hell are we splitting up right now. That’s exactly how everybody dies in horror movies.”

Jon smiled. “Right. Let’s go, then.”

They crept out of the master bedroom and to the closed door. Martin briefly felt the bizarre urge to reach out and knock, but resisted the urge as Jon reached for the doorknob. As soon as he touched it, the footsteps inside stopped again. Martin struggled to keep his breathing even as Jon opened the door.

“Oh,  _ fuck off _ .”

The words were out of Martin’s mouth before he could stop them. But honestly, the room was so stereotypically spooky that it almost felt fake. It clearly used to be a kid’s room. A small bed frame with a dirty, twin-sized mattress was pushed into one corner, with a moldy little teddy bear perched at one end. As he shone the light on it, Martin noticed that the eyes of the bear were gone, which was probably some vandal’s fucked-up idea of a joke. At least, Martin  _ really _ hoped it was. At the other end of the room was a small wooden rocking chair, swaying gently back and forth in the breeze.

Except there was no breeze anymore. The air was still.

“Jon,” Martin hissed. “The chair.”

The expression on Jon’s face was pure exhilaration. He was already pulling out his phone and pointing his camera at the rocking chair, a giddy laugh bubbling up inside him as he pressed Record. 

“Hello,” Jon breathed. “Who else is in this room with us?”

No answer. Martin thought he heard something coming from the part of the room where the chair was, but it was hard to tell if it was breathing or a voice or just the sound chairs make when they rock.

“My name is Jonathan Sims, and this is my friend Martin Blackw--”

“Why are you telling it our  _ names _ ?” Martin hissed. 

“I’m being polite!” Jon answered. Martin scoffed, about to respond, but Jon was already talking again. 

“I’m Jonathan Sims, and this is Martin Blackwood. Can you tell us your name?” Jon asked. Martin definitely heard a voice this time, but he couldn’t make out what it said. He tightened his grip on Jon’s arm, but if Jon noticed, he didn’t care. From the way he was staring out at the room, Martin could tell he was trying to make out what the voice was saying, too. “Damn, I should’ve asked Melanie if I could borrow her spirit box,” he murmured. 

“Like she would’ve even let you,” Martin retorted. “You know better than anyone how she gets…”

The end of Martin’s sentence died on his tongue as his eyes drifted to the wall behind Jon. In the weak light of the torches, his shadow was thrown, tall and dramatic, against the wall. But everything about it seemed...wrong. Even in the odd lighting, it shouldn’t be that thin, the limbs shouldn’t be that long.

And Jon was standing still.  _ So why was the shadow moving? _

Jon must have noticed Martin’s horror, so he turned and shone his torch on the thing pretending to be his shadow. Rather than disappearing under the direct light, it grew darker, more solid. Somebody -- Martin didn’t know if it was himself or Jon -- let out a strangled cry as it pulled itself free from the wall.

Every instinct in Martin’s body was screaming at him to get the hell out of there, but Jon stood firm. “What are you?” He asked the figure. His voice shook, but whenever he remembered the events later on, Martin would only ever be impressed that Jon could still speak at all.

The specter’s only answer was to reach out to Jon. Martin could barely see its shadowy fingers, but somehow he knew how sharp they were. How solid. If this thing touched Jon, it could tear him apart.

Martin overcame his paralysis, grabbed Jon’s hand, and ran.

The movement caused them to drop both of their torches, so they were practically blind as they stumbled out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. Even once they left the house, Martin didn’t stop. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow until the house had vanished from view, until they were back at the turning point in the stream, until Jon began to fall behind him. He had to be sure they were safe from that house.They were halfway back to the road they’d first come from by the time he and Jon stopped.

Martin slumped against a tree, raking a hand through his hair and attempting to catch his breath. Jon flopped onto his back on the forest floor, closing his eyes and grinning. He was panting even harder than Martin was, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. 

“That,” Martin gasped out, “was completely insane.”

“Utterly.” Jon opened his eyes and turned his head in Martin’s direction. “But you want to hear something even crazier?”

“What?”

“I was considering going back for our torches,” he laughed. After a moment, Martin realized he was laughing, too. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or how late it was by now, or some combination of the two, but suddenly this whole adventure seemed hilarious. By the time he finally caught his breath, he was on the ground beside Jon, staring up at the stars as they sparkled between the tree branches. They seemed brighter than they had from inside the house.

“Well, I’m certainly not letting you go back alone, but d’you think maybe we could head back in the daytime?” Martin asked, half-joking. Jon let out one last chuckle and nodded.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Much safer.” His voice came out gentler than Martin expected, remarkably free of sarcasm. Martin turned his head to look at him, his face warming up faster than it probably should have when he saw Jon staring back at him. A strand of Jon’s hair had come loose from its ponytail and fell now across his eyes. Martin fought back the desire to brush it away.

Instead, he snorted. “Since when do you care about  _ safety _ ? You would’ve gotten ghost-stabbed trying to communicate with that thing if I hadn’t been there.” 

Maybe it was Martin’s imagination, but now it seemed like Jon was the one blushing. “I -- well -- y’know -- alright, maybe I would’ve.” He paused, as if he wasn’t sure if he was really certain of what he was saying next. “Maybe I just care about  _ your _ safety.”

The words came out as a mumble, so tentative and soft that Martin wondered if he’d even really heard them. Jon looked away from Martin, fixing his dark gaze on the sky with an intensity that gave nothing away.

Martin wanted to reach out and take Jon’s hand again, but was worried about how Jon would take that. As a compromise, he scooted closer, until his left shoulder was pressed gently against Jon’s right. “Well, once again, which one of us almost got ghost-stabbed tonight?” He teased. “You don’t need to worry about me. I can handle myself.”

Jon sighed softly. “I know.” Martin couldn’t tell if what he heard in his friend’s voice was wistfulness or resignation.

Then he sat up, and the moment passed. “Anyway, I’m starving. Pizza? The shop near the university should still be open.”

Martin stood. “Pizza sounds great. Or chips.”

“The good chip shop’s been closed for hours, though,” Jon protested, clambering to his feet with a wince, swaying slightly.

“Alright, pizza’s fine, but you can pay-- hey, wait, are you alright?” Martin placed a hand on Jon’s back to steady him, and as he did so, he felt something that made exasperation flare up inside him. No doubt it was the root of Jon’s current pain.

“Did you seriously wear your  _ binder  _ on a ghost hunt?” 

Jon looked down sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god, you could’ve mentioned that before I made you run half a mile! You’re really gonna end up messing up your ribs someday. Your lungs, too, probably,” Martin berated him, punching him gently on the arm. 

“I’m  _ fine _ , Martin,” Jon insisted. “And anyway, it certainly wasn’t half a mile.”

“You don’t think?”

“No way.” Jon was clearly holding back another smile. “It was definitely at least three-quarters.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told.” Jon slung an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “So, pizza?”

“Sounds good,” Martin answered as they started to walk toward the road again. “ _ After _ we go back to the flat so you can change.” Jon made a face at him. “What? You worry about my safety, I’ll worry about yours.”

“Alright,” Jon said, heaving a dramatic sigh. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

He kept his arm around Martin’s shoulders all the way home.


End file.
